


Piranha in the Stream of Creation

by sarkywoman



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkywoman/pseuds/sarkywoman
Summary: "We got tuned into each other's radio stations. Let's say that. I got to walk through life ending others and she got the patterns. But it's not all right. Sometimes we're muddled. I'm never sure if I'm doing the right thing. "Role-Swap AU. Dirk is the holistic assassin, Bart the detective. Written for the mini DGHDA bang.





	Piranha in the Stream of Creation

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a lot more than this. As such, much of the plotty details are not addressed in this story and Bart doesn't get as much participation as I'd intended. (I did have the entire AU planned in note form, but I ended up just picking the best scenes to expand on.)
> 
> Implied sexual content between Dirk and Todd, btw.
> 
> Please see the lovely art here! - http://feli-art.tumblr.com/post/160942684234/my-part-in-sarkywomans-fic-pirahna-in-the-stream

After sitting with a weeping guest for longer than he should have, Todd makes his way up to the penthouse as his boss instructed. He phones Amanda as the elevator climbs the floors, but honestly he's relieved when it goes to voicemail. Then he feels guilty for the sense of relief. He should want to talk to his sister. Like everything else, it's just difficult sometimes. And it's mostly his fault that it's difficult. 

Scratch that, it's _entirely_ his fault. 

The elevator stops before the penthouse floor, but nobody is waiting to get in when the doors open. The nearest guests are a couple over the other end of the hall but...

...That's him. Standing there in bloodied clothes, an American flag vest, his hand wrapped tightly around the wrist of that attractive but weird British guy that checked in earlier that week. That is _him_. Todd sees his face every day in the mirror. He should say something. What? What the hell can he say?!

The other... other _him_ is equally stunned for a moment, as is the British dude – Dirk, his name is Dirk something – but then his twin smiles. Genuinely gleeful for some reason.

“Everything's going to be okay,” he says, in Todd's own voice. “I mean, it's going to be _batshit crazy_ , but it's going to be okay. Okay?”

Next to him British Dirk gives a thumbs up with his free hand. Blood smears stand out on his bright yellow jacket.

The elevator doors slide shut.

Todd is still shaking when they open again at the penthouse and the flickering of the lights does nothing to ease his state of mind. He walks over to the door, stopping to pluck a discarded lottery ticket out of a pool of blood. The crimson liquid seeps slow and sinister out from under the door. He doesn't want to open the door.

He opens the door.

Never in all his life has he seen a scene like this. The room is trashed, bodies and bits of bodies scattered over the floor. Some of the furniture looks burned around the edges, chunks taken out of it. Even the ceiling is affected. It looks like...

“Bitemarks,” he realises aloud. “There are bitemarks on the ceiling.”

“Fascinating, isn't it?”

Screaming, Todd whirls around and falls on his ass. He scrambles back along the floor away from Dirk, who stands over him with a black kitten in one hand and a penknife in the other. 

“How did you get up here so fast?!” Todd cries out. He glances around but he can't see the other guy, the one who looked so much like him. “Where's the other guy?”

Dirk raises an eyebrow. He's not wearing the jacket. Did he take it off? Too bloody for him? “You saw them too? Hmm. There are certainly a good deal many weird things happening today, I'll grant you that.”

“Did you kill these people?”

Honestly he expects a solemn confession followed by a quick and grisly stabbing, but Dirk just laughs. 

“I _wish_. Look at this place! It's fantastic!” He gestures with the knife around at the carnage.

“Fantastic? People are dead.”

“They tend to be, in the end. Frankly I think they did pretty well. Most people die in such _boring_ ways. It's a bit refreshing, wouldn't you say?”

“No. I wouldn't. It's murder and we need to report this to the cops. Where did you get that cat?”

“Here. I've always wanted a pet.”

“It's probably evidence or something. The cops will want it.”

With a shrug, Dirk says, “The cops will want a good many things, I'd imagine. They will simply have to go on wanting.” He turns to the door as if leaving.

“Hey, wait! You have to talk to them too! We're the first people on the scene!”

“You're the first person on the scene,” Dirk says. “I was never here.”

“Why would you say that if you weren't involved?”

“I prefer not to deal with the police. You understand.”

Todd twists around to clamber to his feet, managing to place his hand in a tacky pool of blood in the process. “Ugh.” He wipes it over his uniform, feeling a little sick. “I don't understand and if you don't come with me to report this, I'll tell them you were here.”

Dirk raises his eyebrows, looking completely unconcerned with the threat. “I wouldn't do that, Todd. I know where you live.”

The implication hits like a punch to the gut. Todd wavers. “What? No you don't. How would you?”

“Ridgley building.” For a while Dirk simply maintains steady eye contact with him. Todd doesn't want to be intimidated by a gangly Brit with a kitten in his arms, but fuck if he isn't chilled to the core. How does he know that? Why does he know that?

Then Dirk smiles and the tension breaks. “I'll see you later, Todd.”

He leaves with the kitten, Todd left standing in a pool of blood in the midst of a murder scene. Heart racing.

“Like hell you will.”

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Dirk gathers his things into his bag and lures the kitten out from under his bed, putting her onto the covers for a moment. Todd is no longer working at the hotel and Dirk would very much like to follow him to wherever he is. There's an odd sensation of unfinished business, however. It leaves him feeling unsettled, like hairs being pushed the wrong way but all over his soul. It's an itchy feeling. 

He takes a moment to settle on the bed with a sigh. The kitten ambles onto his lap and he pets her a while. Her fur under his fingers is calming and he very much hopes she doesn't die in the rampage of murder and chaos that is his existence. He finds it very hard to believe any kitten is fated to die, even if this one reeks of death. If anything, that just makes her more suited to be his pet.

Lifting her into one arm, he picks up his bag with the other and leaves his hotel room. He appreciates being brought to nice places like this. All too often he finds himself in the arse-end of nowhere or squatting in some shoddy slice of suburbia while his victim decomposes in the next room.

Footsteps stomp up the stairs as he makes his way to them, culminating in the hotel manager standing before him at the top of the staircase. Dirk expects him to move aside, then realises the man is not just glaring with a general sense of displaced outrage, but he is actively glaring at Dirk specifically. Then he glares at the kitten.

“You brought an animal into my hotel? On top of everything else?”

“No, actually. I found the animal in your hotel and I've barely put her on top of anything. Can I help with something?”

The man points, his finger jabbing forward almost near enough to poke Dirk in the chest. “Todd told me you were at the murder scene. He said it was your fault.”

Dirk shrugs, almost dislodging his bag. “It wasn't.”

“I don't believe you. Neither will the cops. You're gonna get back into that room and give me the key and you're gonna wait there until they arrive.”

“As much as I admire your enthusiasm for precognition, you're way off, factually speaking. Oh.”

“Oh?” The man raises his eyebrows, echoing the sound. “Oh? What the hell do you mean 'oh'?”

“I've just got it. I don't always get it straight away. Sometimes I do and everything's quick and fine, but sometimes things are laid out in front of me and I'm just staring at them obliviously until it _clicks_. You'll have to forgive me, I'm sometimes not sure I'm cut out for this.”

That look, the one that says Dirk is absolutely insane, is one he has become accustomed to. The hotel manager shakes his head as if trying to resettle his thoughts. “Cut out for what?”

With the arm not holding a kitten, Dirk reaches out and shoves him down the stairs. His neck snaps on step two. He's crumpled in an awkward position, making Dirk lunge a little when he has to step over him, but the feeling of unfinished business has vanished. This buoys his spirits considerably, putting a spring in his step all the way to Todd's building. 

He parks his stolen car outside the Ridgley and wonders what to do next. He knows there's a tradition to throw stones at windows to attract attention in the night, but there are no little stones around. He has his gun, but a bullet would downright destroy the window. He'll have to break in. 

After checking the kitten is secure in his bag, he hefts it over one shoulder and makes his way up the fire escape. Todd's window is open, a damning security risk. A dangerous person could waltz straight in.

Climbing through the window, he sets down his bag just as Todd screams and throws something. Dirk catches it – it's a shoe. He puts it on the kitchen counter.

“Calm down, Todd.”

“What?! No! You calm down! Get out of my home!”

The smaller man dives at him, but Dirk twists out of the way and Todd collides with the counter. It's clearly time to de-escalate the situation, so Dirk draws his gun. It's amazing how easy it is to find them in America. Back in the UK he had relied on knives for the majority of the Universe's bidding.

As expected, Todd cowers against the counter. He holds his hands up. “Please don't kill me. I didn't tell the cops anything. I swear I didn't!”

“Good. But I'm not here to tie up loose ends, Todd. I just need somewhere to stay. I'm going to sleep here.”

Todd seems so incensed by the assumption that he stops being afraid, scrambling to his feet. “Oh no, you don't. You're a psychopath and if you stay here I'll kill you myself.”

Dirk grins. “A perfectly non-psychopathic thing to say.”

“Not... I mean... shut up! You're the dangerous one here.”

“Possibly. But not to you. I told you, I'm not here to hurt you. And you couldn't hurt me if you tried.”

“You wanna bet on that? Just because I'm shorter than you--”

“It's nothing to do with size. I simply can't be hurt. The Universe won't allow it. So let me sleep on your sofa. Please.” 

His manners seem wasted on Todd, who still shakes his head. “You're actually insane. The Universe won't allow you to be hurt? Jesus...”

Dirk presses the gun to his own head and pulls the trigger. Todd jumps, but when the gun doesn't fire he immediately regains his cantankerous nature and folds his arms. “Not loaded. Big deal.”

He fires at the ceiling. Even with the suppressor, the shot makes Todd cry out and leap back, bashing himself against the counter again. 

“It's military,” Dirk explains. “Fires smoothly. I've never missed with it. Best you don't ask where I got it. I'm tired and really don't have time to do the story justice right now.”

Todd stares up at the bullet hole in his ceiling and swallows nervously. “Okay, that doesn't...”

With a sigh, Dirk shoots at his own skull again. The gun clicks. He shoots up at the ceiling, making another hole. He shoots at his head again. Todd throws his hands up in the air. “Okay, okay! I believe you!”

“Do you?”

“I don't know. But please stop firing that gun.”

An easy enough request. Dirk opens his bag and swaps the gun for the kitten. “Have you got any water?”

“You brought the... of course you did.” Todd still sounds a little stunned, but he goes to his cupboard for a dish and fills it with cool water from the tap. He places it by the kitten, who goes in for a drink and Dirk can't help but feel this will work. Todd could be a great partner in crime. 

“Thanks, Todd.”

“Don't thank me,” the man snaps. “I'm just trying to humour the unkillable psychopath who's shown up in my home. I want you gone or I will go to the cops.”

“Sure you will.”

Dirk shines a smile his way then goes to settle down on the sofa. He bounces on it a little. It's not exactly a bed at the Perryman Grand Hotel, but he's slept on worse. 

After all, at the Perryman Grand he wasn't sharing the space with a _friend_.

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“This is the place?”

Todd nods. “Yeah.” He glances up at Dirk, who is staring across the road at the unassuming suburban home. “This dude answered the door, took the dog and there was Lydia Spring in the background. She was acting weird though. I guess she was drugged or something.”

Dirk stands out in his bright yellow jacket, a splash of colour in a street of brown cars and beige houses. The look of serious thought on his face is new and alarming. He looks like he's considering something Todd won't like, which becomes even more likely as he reaches into his pocket and plucks out his penknife.

“Whoa, hey, what are you doing?”

As if Dirk has the audacity to look startled. “I just thought we might need it.”

“We won't, okay? Let's go call the cops, let them know we've found the missing girl. There doesn't even need to be a reward, look.” Todd fishes the lottery ticket out of his pocket. “Ten grand. I'll cash this in straight after we've been good citizens.”

Dirk's hand snatches it quick as a flash. “Wow. Lucky you!”

“I know, right? I'm not normally lucky. Actually this whole week's going pretty badly apart from that.” A car turning the corner startles Todd out of his musings when he realises who's driving. “That's him! That's the guy!” He ducks behind the nearest bush, but Dirk remains standing at the side of the road, watching the car pull into the garage and tapping his knife against his thigh. The colour of his jacket aside, he fits the image of a psycho killer a little better with that pose.

Once the garage door thuds shut, Dirk says, “Right then.” He tucks the lottery ticket in his pocket and winks at Todd before striding off across the road.

“Hey, wait! That's mine!” Todd runs after him, catching up just as Dirk approaches the front door. “Give me my ticket! What are you doing?”

“Making enquiries,” Dirk says. He raps at the door with the hand that isn't still holding a knife. After a few moments he knocks again.

“Alright, alright!” A voice grumbles inside. “Hold your horses.”

If Todd hadn't been watching Dirk carefully he might have missed the way his eyes widen a little as if in recognition. His lips part and he meets Todd's gaze. “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh what? We should--”

The door opens and the stout man from before looks between the two of them, his old-fashioned glasses slipping down his nose. He steps back slightly, seeming nervous at the sight of Dirk. “You?!” 

He eyes Todd then, perhaps recognising him as the person who returned his dog. “What do you—ARGH!”

He gasps, his cry of pain cut off as Dirk tugs the knife out of his chest and makes another sharp stab into his neck. Something vital starts spurting blood like something from a cheap horror movie. It doesn't look real and Todd's just _standing_ there while the man gasps and croaks and clutches his throat with one hand and his chest wound with the other.

Down the road someone opens their front door and the sound startles Todd into action. He shoves Dirk into the house past the guy then drags the man back in after them so that he can shut the door. The older guy stumbles and slides down the wall of his hallway.

“He's a _big_ fan of Lux Dujour,” Dirk says, looking around the house at the memorabilia as though the décor is the most interesting aspect of their lives right now.

“You just STABBED him! Twice!”

Dirk looks down at the man bleeding onto the carpet. “Well, frankly I feel a third time is unnecessary. But I can do a little more stabbing, if you like.”

“No! You just killed an innocent man!” Okay, so he's not dead yet, but blood is seeping between his fingers from both wounds and there's so much already. All over him and his carpet, all over Dirk's stupid yellow jacket...

“Innocent Todd, really?” Dirk nods towards the back of the house where Lydia Spring sits whimpering. 

At the devastated and scared look on her young face, Todd can't help but feel less concerned over this guy's demise. Still. “You can't just take the law into your own hands, Dirk.”

“Who said anything about the law?”

The corgi from before runs out and yaps at them excitedly. Todd thinks she'll bite, but Dirk scoops up the little dog without a problem. 

“What now?”

“Well, get the girl. We'll hop in his car and head back to your place.”

“Can't we just... drop her off at the police station?” Todd walks over to Lydia. He keeps his pace slow so as not to startle the poor girl. “You're not going to tell them we were here, are you?”

She growls at him. Todd hesitates. “Lydia?”

Unlike the corgi, she totally bites.

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Ken has not led an ordinary life by anyone's standards. He's hesitant to say he's led a life of crime, as such, but he has a history of making money through illicit means. That has resulted in a certain amount of weirdness, but nothing quite so weird as this. He wonders what the police will say. There's no way the truth will out. No one is going to look at his roadside corpse and say:

_“Hmm. Well it seems clear to me that this guy was plucked from some cult's scheme – leaving him unpaid, I might add – by this crazy woman in a trenchcoat who thinks everything is connected in some sort of hippy masterplan. After someone in a black van mysteriously shot his employer, she enlisted his help in her quest to solve some sort of mystery pertaining to the very cult he had just been working with and apparently she wants to find some guy called Dirk Gently, so they're headed to Seattle. But then their car broke down so a serial killer stopped to help them, confessing he would be selling their car for parts shortly before he gunned them both down. Yep, that's my assessment. No next of kin? Oh well.”_

“You listening to me, kid?”

A gun is waved at his face by the man who had seemed so friendly. Ken nods. “Yes, yeah, I am, just... thinking.”

“Doesn't matter anyway. Down on the ground.”

Bart raises her eyebrows, looking singularly unimpressed. “What, you can't shoot us while we're standing up?”

“ _Don't_ make this worse!” Ken knows as soon as he says it that she's going to be mocking, at best.

She looks at him and says, completely deadpan, “I'm sorry. Am I making our executions more difficult for you?”

Their soon-to-be-killer steps forward and grabs her by the hair, twisting her to the ground. Ken steps forward, but stops when the redneck looks up at him. He has a gun, after all.

“Enough talking. You, on the ground.”

Shaking, Ken lowers himself to his knees. Stones dig into him through the material of his trousers. He always knew it would end like this, if he's honest with himself. Crime doesn't lend itself to growing old peacefully. The real shame is that things were just starting to get interesting, really. Now he's never going to find out what Bart's been going on about, will never find out what answers are with this 'Dirk Gently'...

Rock music grows louder. Their attacker looks down the road and swears. “Seriously? Nobody uses this road.”

Bart cranes her neck, lifting her head up the floor to look at the oncoming van. It's a battered old thing, covered in dark paint and as it gets nearer, Ken sees 'Rowdy 3' written on the side in red. Bart groans, letting her head thump back onto the ground. Not a good sign.

“Is this... worse?” Ken asks quietly.

“Kinda. But I guess we won't get shot at least.”

Their attacker puts his gun away. The van doors open.

The next five minutes are the weirdest part of Ken's life so far.

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There's dirt under her fingernails, Bart notices as she washes her hands. With a heavy sigh at the indulgence that is good hygiene, she starts picking at them under the hot stream of water. At least this station has bathrooms as well as a small shitty diner. The last time she topped up the gas the station attendant wouldn't let her use their little bathroom and she ended up having to piss against the back wall outside. 

The station attendant hadn't much liked that either, but he had made his choice as far as she was concerned. 

Once her nails are within an acceptable level of filthiness, she goes over her hands again with a little more soap, wincing as she wipes the dirt out of some scratches on her palms. When the biker mechanic had knocked her to the ground she had scraped up her hands pretty bad. The Rowdy 3 sure hadn't been in no hurry to help her up either, when they arrived to bash the other guy's brains out. In the end it had been Ken who crept forward and helped her sit up, moving slowly as if he thought the Rowdy 3 would come back for him.

Ken's an odd one. The Universe is clear that he's important to have around, but she's not sure that message is for her. It's been that way _nearly_ as long as she can remember. There had been a time when the path was clear and she was sure. When she was invincible. 

She isn't like that anymore. Blackwing took her off her path and put her onto a dark and muddied one. The Universe has settled for it and so has she, but it isn't right. Things get confused way too often. Ken might be a piece of someone else's puzzle. 

In her mind she hears the echo of the name that came to her months ago. _Dirk Gently._ Was that clue meant for someone else too?

“Marzanna.”

Although her hands are as clean as she needs them, she keeps running them under the water, staring at them. She doesn't look back. One word from the Colonel and she sees him clear as day in her mind's eye.

He repeats her old name and she sighs.

“You know this is the women's bathroom.”

She twists the tap to shut off the water. The pipes judder and she turns to him, wiping her hands on her shirt. It's not going to get dirtier, after all. There's another guy with Riggins, younger, military. She suspects she's meeting the man with the sniper rifle that she's glimpsed in a distant van window.

“Marzanna, you need to come with us.”

“No I don't.”

“We need to debrief you.”

“S'been a long time. I'm doing okay.”

Riggins raises his eyebrows. “Really? That's what you think? You're throwing yourself headlong into danger and we can't keep saving you.”

Holding up a finger (though not the one she'd like to hold up), she corrects him. “One save. I appreciate it, but don't let it go to your head. You ain't my heroes.”

The man with Riggins takes a step forward. By the time Riggins puts out a hand to halt him, Bart's already taken a step back, bumping the small of her back into the sink. She needs to stop keeping her gun in the glove compartment of her car. And she needs bullets for it.

Still trying to play Good Cop, Riggins speaks again in the soft, condescending tone that she always hated. “Marzy. Come on now. What are you doing? Playing vigilante in your trenchcoat?”

“There's something weird going on. I'm gonna use what the Universe gives me to fix it. That's what you people wanted, right? Or something like it.”

He sighs. “The Universe doesn't give you what you want or need. We've been over this. Your... powers, such as they are, aren't beneficial for anything short of an unpredictable party trick. But Marzy--”

“Stop calling me that.”

“--Blackwing's not what it was. You need to come back with me so that we can make sure you're looked after. If you don't come willingly, I don't know what they'll do.”

“You warning the others too?”

He licks his lips nervously. The younger military guy looks to him questioningly, as if he's wondering the same thing.

“You're the priority. For me.”

She can't help but laugh. “Yeah? Why's that?”

“Because you're not like them. They're dangerous. You need to be protected.”

His words make the bile rise in her stomach. Her boots fall heavy on the grimy floor as she walks right up to him, so that they're almost pressed together. She glares up into his eyes.

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

When she shoves him the younger guy grabs for her but Riggins grabs for him and in the confusion she twists her wrist out of his strong grip. She runs out into the diner where Ken is patiently waiting with a plastic menu and she tugs him out of the chair by his collar. She ignores his questions and his obvious panic until they're back in the car and she's tearing off down the road, watching the mirror for a black van.

“Bart! What the hell?!”

“I'm not going back in a cage!”

It's not what she meant to say at all. It doesn't even make sense to Ken, for fuck's sake.

But he accepts it. He's bound to ask questions later, but for now he settles back into his seat and looks up at the mirror, watching out for the thing that's unsettled her. 

Maybe the Universe will let her keep him, if she solves the mystery.

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Todd Brotzman still seems shifty when they bring him into the office. He keeps trying to meet their eyes, to hold eye contact when they stare him down, but he can't do it for long. It doesn't seem like the usual cop station jitters, either.

“Am I being charged with something?”

“Should we charge you with something?” Somehow Todd is wrapped up in all this. Estevez knows that. But that knowledge is next to useless without getting the details down. They just need information, enough pieces of the puzzle that they can find Lydia Spring.

“I don't think so?”

Zimmerfield pipes up from where he's half-sitting on his desk. “Your boss passed onto us that you witnessed someone else at the scene. A British guy.”

For a moment, Todd feigns confusion. “I don't really... look, that day was a panicked blur. I don't remember really what I said.”

Liar, liar. “So was there a British guy on the scene or wasn't there?”

“Details like this are very important, Todd,” Zimmerfield adds.

“Um, there was, yeah.”

They wait a moment, but he's silent. Apparently, he's said all he feels he needs to say. Estevez looks over to Zimmerfield, who meets his eyes patiently then sighs.

“Is any further information forthcoming, Mr Brotzman?”

“He, uh... had a cat? A kitten, really.”

“A kitten,” Estevez echoes, unimpressed to say the least. All that tells them, in conjunction with the corgi they saw on the security footage, is that the hotel has a lenient policy on animals.

“Yeah. Look, he was staying at the hotel. I saw him around when I was working there.”

“You're not working there now,” Estevez observes. He knows Todd got fired, but he wants to know what Todd has to say about it.

“No, I'm not.” Clearly he doesn't have much to say about anything. He seems to notice he's frustrating them though, because after a glance at both their faces, he hurries to add, “I'm sure you could ask around about him though. He was staying there when I quit. He sort of... stood out.”

“Are you aware,” Zimmerfield asks in his usual measured tone, “that your boss is dead?”

A split-second before the look of surprise washes over his face. A split-second where Todd forgets he ought to be surprised. Yeah, he knew. He damn well knew. And if he found out through conventional channels there'd be no need to fake surprise. God damn. 

“Dead? Really?”

“Yeah,” Estevez replies. “Just after you lost your job, actually. It's all really suspicious, Todd.”

“You think _I_ killed him?”

It's possible. Todd's a little guy, but the hotel manager wasn't killed in a way that demanded brute force. In fact, the current verdict is accidental death. But Todd doesn't need to know that. It is all still really suspicious, after all. 

“We don't know what to think, Todd,” Zimmerfield says, still speaking calm and soft. “I'm sure you're not the sort to kill a man, but you're being oddly... obstructive.”

“I'm not being obstructive! I told you, you wanna talk to the guy at the hotel. British guy, Dirk something.”

“He checked out,” Estevez says. “Don't suppose you know where we might find him?”

“How would I know that?” Todd asks.

“Todd,” Zimmerfield tries again, “If anyone is threatening you or making you feel unsafe, perhaps someone to do with all of this, you only need to tell us. We'd make sure you were safe.”

Todd looks at Zimmerfield for a while. There's something in what he said, to get that look on his face. But he gets up from his chair.

“If I'm not being charged with anything, I really have to go.”

And they have to let him. Estevez watches him go and slaps the tabletop in frustration. “He didn't kill the hotel manager.”

“He didn't kill the hotel manager,” Zimmerfield agrees.

“Or Patrick Spring.”

“Or Patrick Spring.” Zimmerfield ponders the situation. “But he knows who did.”

“The British guy,” Estevez says. They've got a name from the hotel check-in – Dirk Gently. That's all they've got. “And we think he's connected to Lydia?”

Zimmerfield shrugs.

This case is _weird_.

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The last few days have been so very bizarre that Farah Black is barely fazed by the fact that she is climbing down a rope into an underground tunnel network to search for a machine that supplies unlimited power. Above her head Todd Brotzman is shining a torch down into the darkness so that she can see what she's doing. Once her feet touch the floor she draws the strange lightbulb from the bag of unusual items. She found them in Zachariah Webb's workshop in her employer's mansion and the lightbulb works through some sort of biological chemistry. Or physics. She's not a scientist. 

“Me next!”

Amanda is far more enthusiastic about an adventure than her brother, who immediately tries to dissuade her. “Maybe you should wait up here for us and--”

“No way. I'm going in the secret tunnel with the badass bodyguard.” Tinny rock music starts playing and Amanda says, “You answer that. I'm getting in the tunnel.”

Her legs poke over the side and reach for the rope, soon finding purchase. Farah stands nearby in case she falls, but it isn't a long rope. Above them, outside, she can hear Todd on his phone.

“Dirk, I don't... Just look after Lydia, that's all you... what? No, wait, back up, back up, what did you say before? …. No, not _that_. After that. Oh Jesus...”

“Is everything okay up there?” Farah steps forward and lifts Amanda down to the ground. The girl smiles up at her, grateful and shy. 

Todd calls down, ignorant of the moment. “Some dudes are at the apartment. He says they're bald and creepy like the guys you described.” Then he draws away from the hole above their heads, still talking. “No, they're down a hole.... Well we found the underground thing.... That's your call, you were the one who said it sounded boring-- WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

“What's going on, Todd?” Farah doesn't like being kept out of the loop. Not at all. But Todd is absorbed in his phone conversation. “Is Lydia okay?”

“Yeah, I'm sure she's.... Was that the dudes getting in? Dirk!”

Wringing her hands, Amanda calls up, “Todd, is he okay?”

“Don't.... No, I don't care if.... No.... Dirk, no! Oh for fuck's sake....” Again Todd casts a shadow over them, leaning over the access to the tunnel. “I've gotta go! Will you be okay?”

Farah expects that's more directed to Amanda than to her. The young woman looks up at her and smiles. There's a trust there that Farah's not sure she's earned yet. “Yeah, I'm good.” 

“Okay. I'll just check on him then I'll be right back, okay?”

“Todd, is Lydia okay?! I'm coming back with you!”

But he doesn't wait for her, just dashes off. A moment later they hear the gate jangle and then he's gone. Farah checks out their immediate surroundings using the auto-lightbulb. After a few moments, she realises Amanda is still staring up at the access hatch. They can't rely on the rope without Todd there to make sure it holds. They'll need to find another way out and that means she'll need Amanda to focus.

“You okay?”

The girl jumps and turns to her. “Huh? Yeah, just...” She shakes her head, as if embarrassed. “Nothing. It's... nothing.”

“Sure? If you want to talk, I can listen.” After all, she spent many an evening listening to Lydia's woes. She's got good practise at it.

Amanda only hesitates a moment before asking, “Do you think Dirk's an okay guy?”

A montage of moments flash through Farah's mind. An impossible shot made by a man in a yellow jacket. Curious detachment in the face of brutality. Stepping over corpses to pluck the electroshock pads from her temples and asking with a concerned frown if she was alright. Questions about bloody knives and clothes evaded.

“Honestly? He saved my life.”

This seems to reassure Amanda, but Farah wonders if she should. Peace of mind could be way more dangerous than paranoia when there were threats around. So she tries again.

“But no. I think he might be a serial killer.”

“Oh.” Amanda stares at her a while, then looks away, seemingly far more concerned about that than the fact that they're in an underground maze. Farah thinks she knows why.

“If he was going to hurt your brother he would have done it already.” Probably. But maybe not. Who can predict a psychopath?

“Todd really likes him, you know?” Amanda worries at her thumbnail with her teeth. The sight makes Farah think of what they have told her about pararibulitis and she wonders what she is supposed to do if Amanda has an attack down here. It was stupid to come down here alone, she realises that now. 

“I'm sure Dirk won't hurt him.” 

“You literally winced when you told that lie.”

“Sorry.”

“It's cool. You're just trying to like, reassure me, I guess? But I'm not thinking that Dirk will hurt him. It's just... weird. Todd's a good guy, you know? Things have been rough for him and I'm worried that he's losing the plot. If you can see Dirk's... dangerous, then so can Todd. But he's just going along with it. Kinda like one of those films where some brainless heiress falls in love with their kidnapper, just without the kidnapping. Or the heiress. And Todd's not brainless, I guess...”

“I get it.”

“No, you don't.” Amanda's tone is serious now. “Todd left me here with you.”

“Uh, yeah. He did. Is that not okay?” Of course it wasn't okay. Who wanted to be left underground in the dark with a gun-toting ineffectual bodyguard?

“It's awesome,” Amanda says with a quick grin. “We're gonna have such a cool adventure. But Todd doesn't leave me. When my attacks get worse, Todd worries and he stays. I mean, hell, he's even got me staying with him a while. Yet, here we are, in some ominous tunnel, just me and you, and he's running off to go make sure killer's okay. It's just not typical Todd behaviour.”

“Maybe he really does like him.” She hasn't known any of them long enough to weigh in on a subject like this reliably. If she could be more confident in her assessment, she would probably mention the way they constantly look to each other or the fact that Todd could be charged with obstruction of justice for the lies he's told the police in order to protect Dirk. She might even mention the way Todd had tried to explain it to her, 'interconnectedness', 'holistic assassination' and other terms that marked him as extremely vulnerable to the crazy ideas that Dirk was trying to put in his head. 

But she can't be certain she's interpreting any of this right. Not with how strange everything has been since Lydia disappeared. Even now the girl is sat in Dirk's apartment barking. Given Todd's frantic phonecall, that's a best case scenario.

“We have to get out of here.”

Amanda nods and takes hold of her hand, letting Farah lead her into unknown territory.

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Dirk had _thought_ he was being helpful, but Todd's frown has been increasing in severity. Eventually it becomes too much to ignore and he turns away from the grinning cultist, that he has securely tied to a chair, to look over to his sour friend. “What?”

Todd raises his eyebrows. “You're asking me what?”

“Quite clearly.”

“You're going to torture a guy and you're asking me what?”

“Yes.” Dirk looks at the bald cultists man who is still grinning, even with blood dripping from his nose after their earlier scuffle. “Do you find this confusing or is Todd being particularly slow?”

“Dude, don't gang up on me with the guy you're totally failing to interrogate!”

“I'm not failing! And really, if I were, would it be appropriate to say so loudly in front of him? It would rather ruin the ambience.”

“What ambience?! You're supposed to be getting information!”

“Oh, now you want me to do it? When you arrived you were all, 'oh no, Dirk, don't torture people, you can't do that', now suddenly you're all on board!”

“I don't sound like that.” Todd pushes himself up from his sofa and stomps over to them. In a fairly assertive and violent motion, he grabs the cultist's collar, both the grey outer layer and the black fleece hoodie beneath. “Why did you come here?!” His voice is so angry all of a sudden Dirk gets shivers. Not entirely unpleasant shivers.

“To retrieve Lydia Spring,” the cultist man replies. All of them share the same odd tones, not quite sing-song, but not quite normal conversational levels either.

Nearby Lydia Spring barks while the corgi watches silently from her perch on the end table by the television. Dirk rolls his eyes at the answer. “Yes, that part was fairly clear. You asked for her when you first broke down Todd's poor door.”

Todd looks over at the door and seems to gain further resolve. He shakes the cultist. “You're paying for that, asshole.”

“We have no money.”

With scorn, Todd says, “'We'? Your friend's dead.” He nods to the corpse of the fellow cultist on the ground. “The only reason you're not is because Dirk managed to stop killing long enough to realise you might be useful.”

“Don't say it like that,” Dirk whines. “You make me sound mad.” He's only conducting the will of the Universe.

“You are.”

“Death is simply a release of energy,” the cultist informs them serenely. Usually people get a bit scared when they find themselves in Dirk's way, but this man has been practically cheerful since his arrival. Even when the Universe aligned circumstances in such a way that Dirk was able to overpower him.

“Well we'll be releasing your energy if you don't tell us what's going on,” Todd growled. 

“You're quite good at this, you know,” Dirk tells him, because openly recognising your friend's strengths are important, he reckons.

For some reason Todd glares at him. “Knife.”

“What? Oh.” He offers the blade to him, but Todd shakes his head.

“No. Show him...” he seems to struggle. “Fuck it. Show him we mean business. A girl's life is at stake and who knows what's happening to Amanda and Farah.”

Dirk does as requested and waves the knife under the cultist's nose. “We mean business.”

Todd does not seem impressed. “No! I mean... you know, what you had planned before I turned up.”

“Oh. I didn't really have a plan. I assumed the threat would be sufficient. Like in the films. You tie someone up, ask questions, they don't answer, you scare them with nasty threats, then they tell you. I'm not sure which part we're at now. Perhaps the second bit, because he's still not scared.”

He isn't entirely sure why Todd is looking at him like that, but his friend takes his arm and says, “Dirk, can I talk to you for a moment? Over there?”

“Of course!” Dirk follows Todd a few steps away from the cultist so that they're near the door. 

“Stop waving that,” Todd snaps, snatching the knife from his hand. “I mean seriously, you _kill_ people every day.”

“Not _every_ day.”

“You kill a lot of people and you don't know how to do this?”

“Why would I?”

With a groan, Todd says, “when you said on the phone that you were going to interrogate him, I assumed you knew what you were doing!”

“How hard can it be? You seemed to be doing the questioning bit alright.”

“Okay, but there needs to be actual threat. I don't think these guys respond like normal people. You're gonna have to cut him a little.” Todd closes his eyes. “I can't believe I'm saying this.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, change of plan. Let's call the cops.”

“The ones who suspect you of murdering your boss?”

“That was your fault!”

“But you didn't tell them that.” Dirk can't help but smile. It's so strange, having someone lie for him. To protect him.

Todd swallows, seemingly made nervous by Dirk's smile. “No. I didn't.” He runs a hand back through his hair. “So you've never actually tortured someone before?”

“The Universe directs people into my path to die, not to get tied up and questioned. To be honest, it's a bit naughty of me, letting him live like this. There may be repercussions. But you wanted answers, you and your sister and Farah... I wanted to help.”

A crash draws their attention and it's the cultist man knocking the chair to the floor as he stands. Ah, it seems Dirk has a lot to learn about tying people up too. “Bother.”

The man grins at them before rushing over. He is so much larger than them that Dirk yelps before he's grabbed and shoved up against the wall. An arm presses against his neck, cutting off his air and he can't push it away. The Universe must be pretty miffed with him sneaking off-course like this. Todd is there, trying to drag the big man back, but it's no good.

“Would you like to ask me more questions?” The man grins. The blood from his nose has dribbled into his mouth, staining his teeth red. “It seems you cannot.”

Everything gets a little bit fuzzy around the edges and he's having trouble grabbing at the arm doing the damage. Uncoordinated. Dizzy.

Suddenly the arm is gone and Dirk thumps to the floor, almost certainly bruising his bum. There's a splatter of dark fluid on the floorboards beside him. He pokes a finger at it dazedly and finds it's red.

“Dirk, you okay?”

He blinks up at Todd. He takes deeper breaths. His vision is clearing now. He can see the fear on Todd's face, the bloody knife in his hand. The cultist on the ground.

Todd kneels down beside him. “Dirk?”

“Yes. I...” His voice is all croaky. He coughs to try and clear it. “Yes. I'm fine. Thank you.”

“I killed that guy,” Todd says quietly. It's as if he is just noticing it.

Grabbing his hand, Dirk squeezes it and smiles. “You _saved_ me. You're like an action hero.”

For a moment Todd just stares into his eyes. Dirk isn't sure what he's looking for. When Todd smiles it's only slight, a little unsure, but he does nod.

“Guess so. I mean, they're the bad guys, right?”

“Right.”

Dirk has no bloody idea. But whatever keeps Todd sane.

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They are having a delightful lunch in an American diner. Well, Dirk supposes all the diners he encounters here are American by their very location, but this one feels especially American. A hyperactive little girl with a black ponytail runs to their table to ask for crayons, which they hand over before resuming conversation. Todd is trying to comprehend holistic assassination but his grasp of the subject matter is tenuous at best. It is entirely possible that is Dirk's fault. He has attempted to explain it briefly and he knows Todd is willing to understand, but events keep intruding on their quieter moments. Honestly all of this dog and girl nonsense is really getting in his way, but it's something to do while waiting for the next target.

“That's not quite it,” he says in response to Todd's latest theory. “I'm not psychic, or anything like that. It isn't as though I walk around hunting evil or something. I don't even know that the people I kill are--”

“Voice,” Todd interrupts, glancing around. “You should lower your voice.”

“Oh. Right.” It is strange indeed, having someone watching out for the practicalities like that. Dirk has never found it necessary, the Universe usually twisting itself up to keep him out of serious trouble. But having Todd try and be subtle about this, knowing he has lied to the police to protect him, just having someone _normal_ at his side, makes it all so much more fun. Like a game where they get to lie and hide and disguise rather than just moving from murder to murder.

He continues on quietly. “I don't know that the people I kill are necessarily _evil_ , if one can even categorise a person as purely good or evil. I suspect if the Universe has a concept of good or evil it would be utterly alien to the human morality that you and I are familiar with.” He hesitates there, feeling he should correct himself. “That _you_ are familiar with.” He is not so sure he understands good or evil anymore. Whenever he tries to wrestle with the subject his mind goes back to claustrophobic cells and angry guards and test after test after test...

“Dirk.” His name calls him back to Todd's face, which is shaped by a slight look of concern. “You okay?”

“Yes. Always. As I was saying, people I kill aren't necessarily evil, they're just...” He cannot find the words. He has never had to explain it out loud before. “Imbalanced? Ultimately they will take more from the Universe than they put in. I think. I mean, that _usually_ means they'll do more things you might consider bad than good, if that helps your sensitivity on the issue.”

Somehow Todd takes offence at this, judging from the sudden frown and huff. Dirk likes to think he's getting rather good at noticing these oncoming reactions. Anger was the first one he learned of course, then confusion, but then there is sometimes another look on Todd's face when they are together that he doesn't know yet. Something almost content or curious or... something.

“Listen, Dirk. If I was 'sensitive' to the issue of you murdering people, we wouldn't be sitting here right now. I'd have told Estevez and Zimmerfield all about you and you would have been put behind bars for the rest of your life.”

“That's unlikely. Events usually conspire to get me out of situations like that.”

“Well whoop-de-doo,” Todd mutters sarcastically into his coffee.

“I appreciate your support, though. Really. I don't normally have someone... around. It's nice.”

Todd gives him that look again, the one Dirk has not been able to categorise and prepare for yet. It comes with or without a smile, but even when there is no explicit smile there is almost the implication that one is incoming. Although Dirk does not understand its motivations, it gives him a fluttery feeling in his chest like he wants to see it all the time.

“You're a very interesting person to be around, Dirk. Like, my life was a pile of bullshit until you turned up. Now it's... weird bullshit. Which is somehow better. So thanks.”

He can't help but beam proudly at that. “You're very welcome. I often find that—”

Oh.

The diner is full of people and families, but that feeling is coming from someone in here. There's a target nearby. 

“Dirk?”

For a moment he ignores Todd calling for his attention, looking around the restaurant at every guest and waiting for a jolt of recognition. The little girl and her brother are causing chaos with the crayons a few tables down while the parents try to ignore them. Beside their table a man dines alone with his laptop out. After them a couple are arguing, a blonde woman in a sundress and a man in a tight t-shirt and shorts. It's one of them. The man seems to be trying to hush her, occasionally glancing around as Todd did when Dirk spoke too loud of murder. The woman continues to snap at him. Her voice gets louder, drawing attention from the other tables. 

“Hey, Dirk. You with me?”

“That woman,” Dirk explains. “She needs to die.” He looks over the table for something suitable. A fork would suffice but the steak knife is better. He isn't even having steak. They had simply run out of appropriate cutlery for the tables. That should have clued him in then and there. He grabs the knife, but Todd stays his hand, wrapping a hand of his own around Dirk's wrist.

“Whoa, whoa. You can't just kill her here.”

“Why not?”

“Dude, we're in the middle of a crowded diner. Everyone will see you.”

“But then we can leave.”

Todd looks over at the couple Dirk is referring to. “I don't know, it looks like she's having a bad enough day as it is.”

“I'm supposed to kill her, Todd.”

“Are you sure?”

There it is. The question that haunts him, that haunted him in Blackwing and has haunted him ever since. Is he sure? Is he doing the right thing? Is he reading the cues correctly? Is he doing what that other was supposed to do or has he always been in the wrong place at the wrong time? The path is foggy and the signs poorly-lit and honestly, no. He has never been sure.

He releases his grip on the knife. Todd smiles at him, which makes it somewhat worth it. “Thanks.”

Dirk tries to smile back, but he feels unsettled. An itch under his skin telling him that he still hasn't done what he needs to do. A part of him is even a little annoyed with Todd for complicating things like this. 

As Todd tries to pick up the conversation that Dirk can no longer focus on, the couple continue to argue. They're getting louder and the parents a couple of tables away usher their kids to go play outside on the swings. The girl sprints off ahead of her little brother, black ponytail streaming behind her like a ribbon. They're both outside before the woman slams a hand on the table, knocking over her glass, which smashes on the floor and startles Todd.

“You don't even love me, you asshole!”

The whole diner is quiet now, watching the drama. The kitchen staff peer through the hatch, looking awkward. They're probably wondering if someone should escort the two out. 

“Of course I do, Cynthia! What are you even saying?”

Cynthia stands so that she can glare down at her partner. She slaps his glass, knocking the drink into his lap. “The truth, Michael! The fucking truth! I can't believe you think I'm this stupid!”

“Sit down,” the man says, even as he stands up to match her. “You're making a scene, you crazy bitch.”

“Oh, I'm making a scene?” She pulls a gun from her pocket. Someone screams and chairs scratch back along the floor as everyone dives for cover under their tables. Todd wriggles out of their immobile booth chairs to get under their table. Dirk remains seated. This woman is suffering, like Todd said. Is it so bad that she lives at the price of this man? How does the Universe decide which of them is more valuable? Does it know their potential? Does that man have a path that is somehow more useful than hers? Is the Universe asking Dirk to make that decision? Is Todd right that he can sit back and say 'no'?

“Jesus Cynthia, what the fuck?! Put that down!” The man grabs for her, wrestling with the deadly weapon and she fires.

She misses.

There is a scream by the door. A child's wail. The little boy from before screaming at the sight of his sister's blood-soaked ponytail.

Todd pushes himself up from under the table and stares at the gory scene. “Oh god. Oh _fuck_.” The look he sends Dirk then is nothing like the warm one from before, but it is equally indecipherable, his blue eyes wide with some emotion Dirk doesn't understand.

Dirk picks up the steak knife, walks over to where Cynthia is crying and _still_ fighting for the gun. She doesn't even realise what she's done. He makes the kill.

They don't stick around for the cops and the questions and the grief. 

Ten minutes into their drive, Todd mumbles an apology. Dirk reaches out, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, and squeezes Todd's hand. 

“It's alright. It can be very unclear sometimes.”

“You really are what you say you are, aren't you? Some kind of... killer angel.”

The words make him... not-quite gasp, but certainly he needs a sudden deep breath to calm the well of emotion in his chest.

“That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

And the responding squeeze of his bloodied hand is the nicest touch he has ever received.

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It's frustrating how _knowing_ Dirk is special hasn't led to _understanding how_ Dirk is special. Todd has been trying to get it for hours now, but Dirk's managed to talk a lot without actually really saying anything. As their quest to find the machine has led to exhausting digging, Todd finds himself too tired to keep up the conversational pace. Even Dirk's complaining is growing sluggish.

Dirk leans on the shovel handle, sleeves rolled up, clothes rumpled, hair scruffy. Those things are so out of the ordinary for him that Todd can't help staring. The way he leans, the playful way he swings the shovel back and forth, swaying his hips as he does so, that has to be the reason that Todd is struggling to look away. Dirk huffs.

“This feels like someone else's job.”

“Is that a hunch?”

“I don't know.”

That stops Todd mid-dig. “How can you not know? This is what I don't get. In the diner, you let me talk you out of killing that woman, even though that was obviously what you had to do. Surely either the Universe tells you to do something or it doesn't.”

“The Universe is confused, Todd.”

“You mean confusing.”

“Both. My path wasn't meant to be this way. Me and the other, we were subject to unwanted and uncalled for interference. It steered us off-course.”

“What does that mean? What 'other'?”

For a little while Dirk doesn't say anything. He shovels dirt as if discovering a new enthusiasm for it. Just as Todd stops expecting an answer, Dirk speaks.

“There were others like me. Well, not quite like me. We were collected up, kids who interacted with the Universe in different ways. Not quite... psychic, but... something.” He pauses and Todd wants to ask so many questions, but he can tell Dirk's not quite done. They dig another hole in the blazing sun before he carries on. “One of the others was volatile. She scared the handlers. But they liked what she could do. I only met her once, when they were dragging her past my cell door.”

“Cell?” Todd had imagined some sort of classy boarding school. Like in X-Men. 

“Yes. I used to hear her screaming next door. Always gave me chills. They spent a lot of time with her. More than anyone. She was the most useful, you see. For what they wanted, anyway. They had such limited vision.”

“How come? What could she do?”

“Kill. She knew where the Universe needed pruning. I knew... other things. Where things got hopelessly tangled or lost I could... figure them out a little. Not on purpose, not with logic, just with...” Dirk sighs, sounding a little frustrated. “It's hard to remember how it felt. They took it away, you see.”

“Who did?”

“The CIA. This girl, she was too dangerous for them. They wanted her ability to kill without being killed, but they didn't understand it. They thought they could tame it and guide it. The first step, so they thought, was to try and replicate it in someone else. Someone malleable.”

“And they chose you?” Todd can't help but laugh. “You're malleable?”

Dirk smiles, but there's something sad in his blue eyes. “I was then. I was a child. I was scared and naïve. They said they were there to help me and I had no one else. I had to trust them.”

It should be difficult to imagine a manic devil-may-care assassin as a scared little boy, but Todd can see it. It had been clear from the start that Dirk might be someone with an unconventional upbringing. His urge to cling to Todd, to be his friend and accompany him everywhere, that had been another indicator of loneliness. But this confirmation is still a revelation and it kinda breaks Todd's heart to hear it.

“What did they do to you?”

He wishes he didn't ask as soon as Dirk looks off into the middle-distance. There's pain in that gaze. “The specifics are complicated. It involves a lot I can't really describe. There was physical torture, emotional manipulation and mental training. I don't know that it would have worked on its own, but one day it all just clicked. Like the Universe itself was tired of trying to maintain its stance when there was an easier option. The stream of creation won't run uphill.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Essentially?” Dirk huffs again, drawing it out and puffing out his cheeks as he fumbles around for a way to explain it. “We got tuned into each other's radio stations. Let's say that. I got to walk through life ending others and she got the patterns. But it's not all right. Sometimes we're muddled. I'm never sure if I'm doing the right thing. I'm sure she never had that doubt. I'm always wondering if I'm in the right place, or if I'm the wrong person, or I'm the right person in the right place with the wrong intuition...”

“You're not the wrong person,” Todd interrupts. “You can't be. It feels too right for you to be here. All of this,” he gestures to all the holes they've dug, the random kitten they've brought, and he doesn't know quite how this demonstrates his point, “wouldn't have happened to me if not for you.”

“Is that a good thing?” Dirk looks dubious, but he's smiling.

“Hell yes. You... you made things interesting, Dirk. I mean, I might get killed. Or arrested. And I'm terrified a lot. And I still have concerns over some things like how I'm going to pay my rent or who it even gets paid to now Dorian's dead, but a big part of me doesn't care anymore. You're... you're larger than life and you've taken over and it doesn't bother me how it should. We're on a treasure hunt for a dead man's mystery device, me and some killer angel with a British accent and a colourful jacket collection and I can't imagine anyone else bringing me here.”

Dirk's smile is much wider now. Todd can't tell if he's blushing or if the heat is starting to get to him. “Thank you. That's really nice to hear. I haven't really had anyone in my life before you, Todd. But still.” He sighs as he looks around all the holes they have dug. “I have this fear that someone else might have been more productive in this little quest.” He plunges his shovel back into the hole he's been digging and it stops sharply with a _thud_.

They stare at one another in shock.

Minutes later they have it out of the ground – the first piece of the machine. Farah will be pleased. Dirk looks so proud of himself and Todd's proud of them too. It's like physical evidence of all this weirdness. Every so often Todd thinks he's having a psychotic break, but he can't be because they found a piece of a dead guy's soul machine buried underground using a treasure map his sister and a bodyguard found in a death maze. So it's all real.

The excitement is shared, Dirk practically bouncing on his toes, their exhaustion forgotten. He kneels back down with Todd on the ground to inspect the piece again and when he shakes Todd's shoulders a little in exuberance, Todd kisses him.

Then he draws back because maybe Dirk's not into that. Certainly the man looks surprised, blinking his blue eyes a few times.

“Sorry, I...”

“Why? Don't be sorry.”

Dirk angles his face for another kiss, but doesn't close the distance. Todd does, taking it slower this time. One of Dirk's hands find their way to Todd's hip and this time when Todd draws back from the kiss Dirk looks more amazed, than surprised. And definitely eager.

“Should we call it a night on digging?” Todd asks, his voice a little huskier than intended.

“Oh, I think so. Let's celebrate progress.”

Todd raises his eyebrows. He's been known to move a little fast (there have been a couple of 'nameless' conquests), but this feels different somehow. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

It's possibly a bad idea to let Dirk lead him back to the car, to climb in with him and take his lips in another deep kiss. If it is a bad idea, then letting Dirk eagerly strip their clothes is a worse one.

But Todd is intimately familiar with bad ideas and as Dirk's sweat-slicked skin presses to his own, this doesn't feel like one of them.

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“So this is the machine?” Amanda asks, leaning over to peer at it. 

“Seems that way,” Dirk replies, watching Lydia Spring eat ham off the floor while the corgi whines nearby. 

“It took us ages to find all the pieces,” Todd says, stretching. He still looks tired. Yes, it took a while to dig up all that crap, but not all of their time was so poorly spent. Just seeing Todd's shirt ride up a little makes Dirk think of their time together in the back of the car, of running his fingers up underneath Todd's t-shirt...

Amanda clears her throat. It's only then that Dirk realises Todd was reflecting his look of fondness and most likely remembering the same thing. His sister looks between the two of them, smirking, but Dirk doesn't know what is so funny.

“It's cool you guys found this. Farah's been at her wits end and Ken and Bart were talking about some kind of machine.”

“Ken and Bart?” Todd asks, just as bewildered by the names as Dirk.

“Yeah.” Amanda bounces a little excitedly. “They're super-cool. They've been investigating all these weird goings-on and they happened across this building. Bart thinks it's something to do with all that interconnectedness that you keep referring to. Like some kind of... I dunno, universal plan? Anyway, she's not quite as scary as you, but she's not quite as friendly either. Ken's sweet, though. They've been investigating. They're out with Farah at the moment.”

A feeling not entirely unlike sensing a target sweeps over him. His heart is racing. 

“She gets... intuitions? From the Universe?”

“You'd have to ask her,” Amanda replies with a shrug. “She said the Universe tries to guide her where she needs to be. There's also these punk guys in a van who follow her around to do weird psychic shit. It is _so_ cool.” She laughs and looks to her brother in wonder. “When did our lives get this cool?”

He smiles back at her. “I think we owe Dirk for that one.” There is silence for a moment, then, “Dirk? You okay?”

Dirk shakes himself, trying not to worry him. “Yes. Of course. I'm just a little confused about this Bart person.” The knife is in his pocket. He grips the handle and starts smoothing his thumb over it to calm himself. If news of this Bart is making him feel so out of sorts she is _bound_ to be a target. He never feels like this for no reason.

Amanda keeps talking and though Todd responds appropriately, Dirk feels the man's attention is on him. 

When the door opens, Dirk feels it. Farah walks through with a man that he assumes is Ken. They are followed by a scruffy woman in a dirty brown trenchcoat. As soon as she steps over the threshold of the doorway her head snaps towards him. She feels it too. He feels like there's some sort of magnet analogy to make, but he's never been good at science. Her eyes wide, she tilts her head to the side as she looks him up and down, her mouth hanging open. Then she points at him and says in a gravelly voice, “You! You're Dirk Gently! I've been looking for you!”

There's an effort to launching himself out of the chair at her. Usually things fall into place. Weapons get into his hands and people stumble into his path for execution. This is different. When he swipes at her with the knife, she dodges back out of his way, bumping her head into the doorframe and dropping to the ground just before he can press his advantage. It doesn't matter. He doesn't _need_ the Universe's help.

“Dirk, stop!” He hears Amanda cry out but he doesn't listen. She doesn't know who this is.

He knows who this is. They've met before. The woman staring up at him with eyes widened with fear was once a girl screeching in the cell next door. The owner of the stolen path. The Universe's favourite. The project Dirk can imitate but never quite _be_. The certain one, the invulnerable one with her targets lit up in neon. 

“I swear to god, Dirk, I will shoot you!” Farah points her gun in his direction but she's not the first person to aim a gun at him in his life so Dirk takes it in his stride.

Someone grabs him as he tries to stab at her again. He's not been wrestled before and it throws him off-balance, falling back with her frightened friend Ken who tries to get the knife out of his hand. His target stumbles away but then Todd is there, dragging Ken off of him.

“Leave him alone, asshole!”

They flail at one another, rolling around on the ground and if Ken hurts Todd, Dirk will gladly kill him too. Maybe he'll have to, once he's killed Bart. Maybe it will be self-defence. 

“Farah, don't shoot him, oh my god...”

Bart swings a chair at him and part of it breaks over his head, staggering him for a second. It actually... _ouch_. It _hurts_! Dirk charges at her, grabbing her around the middle and they both crash through the coffee table. He brings the knife up in both hands to slam it down and she holds up a hand, tears in her bright blue eyes.

“I'm not here to hurt you!”

“Shut up. I'm not going back. You can't have it back. I'm not going to be afraid again.”

Her brow furrows as she tries to understand, but he doesn't plan on giving her a chance to. Someone grabs his wrists and tugs him back sharply. He twists as he stands and tries to dislodge their grip but it's Farah and she's actually trained in this sort of thing, so help him. She whirls him around instead, shoving him towards the counter. He makes an awkward attempt to stab back at her and misses. Before he can be relieved – he actually does _like_ Farah – she grabs a handful of his hair and plunges his head down into Todd's kitchen counter.

For a split-second the kitchen veers sharply to the right and he hears Todd shout, then he's falling and everything sort of fades away.

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Farah watches Amanda pace the half-trashed apartment. The girl wrings her hands and keeps glancing at the bedroom door, which her brother has slammed shut. 

“Are you okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?!” Amanda shakes her head and throws her hands up in the air again, pacing away. “My brother's new boyfriend is a psychopath who tried to kill our other new friends.” 

She waves a hand in the direction of Bart and Ken. Ken is done fussing over Bart for the moment and is sitting quietly with his hands in his lap. He wants to leave, but Bart has told him they're staying for the moment. Even after what happened, she wants to speak with Dirk. She sits perched on the back of the sofa, boots cast off onto the floor, watching the bedroom door as if she can see through it.

“Dirk clearly has problems,” Farah says. “I did mention I think he's a serial killer.”

“Well, yeah. But I didn't think he'd try and kill someone we kind of know, right in front of our faces. And I totally didn't expect my brother to act like _we_ were the bad guys for stopping him!”

Ken speaks up. “People like Bart and Dirk, they can be... compelling, you know? With their world view. Life-changing, even.”

Bart looks down at her friend, finally taking her steady gaze away from the door. “You find him compelling?”

“Not him,” Ken says, raising his eyebrows at her pointedly.

She chews at her thumbnail for a moment before looking back to the bedroom door with a quiet, “huh.”

“It's understandable that Todd would want to ensure Dirk's okay,” Farah says. “I hit him very hard.” She couldn't bring herself to shoot him, though maybe she should have. Without knowing more about what's going on, she can't make a decision like that. Dirk saved her life and possibly saved Lydia's, since he murdered the man who had taken her. Lydia is currently asleep on the floor by the sofa, the corgi curled up on the seat by Ken. The sooner they can sort this out, the better.

But Amanda doesn't seem to be listening to her. She's staring at her hands. 

“Amanda?”

“Farah... am I on fire?” The girl's voice is shaky, barely louder than a whisper.

“No. No, you're not.” 

“Oh god...” Amanda scrunches her eyes shut and lets out a high-pitched keening sound of fear and pain. Farah takes hold of her wrists, looking for injury but knowing she'll see none. 

“Where are your meds?”

“I'm on fire! I'M ON FIRE!” 

“Is she okay?” Ken cries out. Bart watches curiously.

“Does it look like it?!” Farah snaps at him. She lets go of her wrists, ready to go on a search for the tablets she knows Amanda takes.

The bedroom door opens at the same time as the front door of the apartment. Todd's gaze darts between his suffering sister and the leather-clad gang who have just burst into his home. Bart, meanwhile, jumps back to keep the sofa between her and the intruders. Their eyes are all on her as they walk in, something malevolent and hungry in their gaze.

As soon as Amanda screams, they all look to her instead. Farah steps forward, putting herself between the advancing gang and Amanda, who crumples to the floor with an agonising sound torn from her throat. 

“Hey!” Todd shouts. “Stay back from my sister!”

“Can you help her?” Bart asks.

The blond man in front looks over to her, breaking his staredown with Farah. He nods. The other members of his posse dart out from behind him, flowing around Farah like a river around a rock. They stand around Amanda and close their eyes. They breathe deeply and some sort of light is drawn from Amanda's body, as though suddenly the air itself glows and they're pulling it from her. Farah doesn't know if she's supposed to be stopping them, doesn't know if this will hurt Amanda or help her and Lydia barks frantically from the sofa...

It stops suddenly, like someone turned off a tap. The gang all turn in sync to face Bart, who glares.

“You _can't_ still be hungry.”

“Can and am,” the leader says, taking a step towards her. The youngest-looking member of the gang giggles, full of anticipation.

“What's going on?” 

Dirk appears in the bedroom doorway with Todd, scowling and squinting. Possibly struggling with a concussion. The gang whip their gazes to him. Dirk tilts his head, examining them.

“Alright boys,” the leader calls. “Time to go.” 

The gang rush to the window and dart out of the fire escape. Dirk looks to Todd with utter confusion. Amanda sits bolt upright, wide-eyed but unharmed. Ken grabs Bart's arm.

“Seriously, who are those guys?!”

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It's peaceful on the pier. The morning sun shines off the water, which gives a fresh smell to the air. Todd's legs swing idly as he tries to make sense of everything they've learned, but he doesn't feel any sense of urgency. The adrenaline has died down now.

Since meeting Dirk it has been this way. It feels like he's known him for months, not days. Looking to the side and seeing him kicking his legs back and forth, staring into distance pursing his lips adorably deep in thought... It just feels right. It's hard to imagine being here alone. Going to the hotel. Coming home. Existing, not living. Even the blood splattered all over Dirk's clothes does nothing to diminish how right this feels.

“What?” Dirk quirks his eyebrows. “You're smiling. Not that I don't like it, but I'm curious.”

“Just thinking about all this Patrick Spring nonsense.”

“You mean this Zachariah Webb nonsense.”

“See now, that is exactly what I'm talking about. Nonsense. And because this idiot can't get his shit together, his daughter's going to get body-swapped with a corgi.”

Dirk huffs, picking at the blood under his nails. “My life got very peculiar when I met you, Todd.”

“You're blaming me?”

“Well before I met you I just killed people.”

“And that wasn't peculiar at all.”

“Not for me.”

He can't keep his laugh in and sees no reason to. He reaches out and takes Dirk's hand in his, stopping the man from picking at the blood. He's going to have to get used to bloodstains and finding dried flecks of it on him. The thought would have sent him into a blind panic even a week ago, but revelation came quickly. This is the will of the Universe. Pretty mind-blowing really. He knows Amanda is sceptical, Farah downright dismissive, but he doesn't need them to believe it. He believes Dirk and that's enough for someone who's never really believed in shit.

“Now what?”

Dirk's question draws Todd out of his zone. “Huh?”

“I suppose we get back to our time now,” Dirk says. “And do... something.”

“Spring said he had a message from Bart. So I guess she's gonna wrap up the Lydia Spring stuff.”

It's impossible to miss the way Dirk's jaw tenses. The look in his eyes is one Todd hasn't seen even while he kills people. Dirk doesn't kill out of malice. Todd couldn't love him if he did.

“Do you think I need to avoid killing her then?”

The idea clearly bugs him. Todd would be lying if he said he completely understood the crazy connection between Dirk and the trenchcoat-wearing woman, but he knows whose side he's on. He squeezes Dirk's hand.

“Patrick did say her note was covered in blood...” He leaves the sentence hanging.

Dirk smiles. “He did, didn't he?”

With a movement so quick Todd's almost startled off the pier, Dirk rolls back onto his feet. Still holding Todd's hand, he tugs. “Come on then, lazy-bum. Let's go rescue a neglected girl in the body of a corgi and kill the Universe's favourite person.”

Todd pulls on his tie until Dirk's low enough to kiss. When they part Dirk has the dazed expression that he always has whenever Todd shows him any affection. It's a damn good look on him. 

“You're insane,” he murmurs. 

But he means it with the utmost affection.

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The sun is shining, the engine of their stolen car is purring at the speed and even the aggressively cheerful pop music can't put a dent in Todd's mood. They have no idea where they're going, only that Todd's driving this time because he'd like to get to wherever it is alive. 

Dirk is sprawled in the front passenger seat. Or maybe he's _lounging_. Either way he has the seat pushed back to give him lots of room to stretch. It keeps catching Todd's attention and making him a pretty dangerous driver. Not Dirk-dangerous, but distracted. Whenever Dirk catches him looking, his eyes light up with mischief. They'll pull over soon. They'll have to.

“I gotta cash in this lottery ticket soon,” he says loudly over the wind rushing past the open window. Then he can send a little money back to Amanda so that she can better enjoy her road trip with her new favourite psychos. “Preferably before we become recognisable fugitives.”

He knows what Dirk is going to say even before he does.

“The Universe won't let it get that far. People tend not to notice me. Not until it's too late, anyway.” He caps it off with a cheeky, wicked little grin.

“That still boggles my mind. You have a bright yellow jacket that, can I say, is still stained with blood. You stole this... attention-whore of a car...”

“Be nice to the car!” Dirk protests, petting the dashboard and glove compartment. “It's getting us nowhere in style.”

Todd has never known where he's headed, if he's honest. His aspirations were always more like whims, his passions never committed. 

Suddenly, none of it matters. He's in a fast car with a homicidal maniac who thinks he, Todd Brotzman, is the best thing in the world. They won the lottery and they're going to live by whim and burned out passion and fuck it, he's totally going to write an album about this.

There's some sort of commotion on the road ahead. Dirk sits up, posture rigid, brow furrowed.

It's not just commotion. It's a dozen police cars and men who look like they form a SWAT team or some sort of small militia. Wait, scratch that, there's actually a tank. Real army. Todd slows the car to a halt some distance away.

“What's with the barricade?”

Slowly, not taking his eyes off of the gathered troops, Dirk opens the glove compartment and pulls out his little knife. 

“Dirk?”

“Stay in the car, Todd. Drive if it looks bad.”

The fucker isn't even looking at him as he opens the door. Todd grabs his arm. “Wait!”

Guns take aim in such perfect sync that Todd can hear the safety clicks from the car. Dirk looks back at him, eyes wide. “What? I have my knife.” He waggles the hand where Todd holds his wrist, waving the blade a little. “It's me they're after. I can't be sure the Universe will protect you, Todd.”

“Well I can't be sure the Universe will protect you either, asshole, so don't you dare get out of this car.”

“Then what do you suggest we--”

His voice cuts off with a startled cry as Todd throws the car into a speedy reverse. Dirk whips his door shut. With an intuition made from too many action movies Todd tugs the wheel and spins the car around just as the shooting starts. His side mirror is the first thing to go, shards of glass exploding into the car, but by that point he's headed in the right direction and he can slam his pedal to the metal.

“Todd!”

“They're not taking you from me.” With the hand that isn't white-knuckled around the steering wheel, he reaches out and grabs Dirk's. They squeeze tight enough to bruise. “Not ever.”

With gunfire all around them and a helicopter thundering overhead, Dirk leans over and plants a kiss to Todd's cheek.

“You're insane!”

“You love it,” Todd retorts, shouting over the racket and impending doom.

“I love you!”

Todd squeezes his hand tight enough to bruise and keeps on driving. The Universe will get them where they need to be.

It has so far.


End file.
